


All-American Kiss

by withmyradio



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (2011), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withmyradio/pseuds/withmyradio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy Lewis may not be star spangled, but she does have a plan: use Steve Rogers to make her ex boyfriend jealous enough to take her back. Steve Rogers IS star spangled, at least some of the time, and has plans of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is partially inspired by the plot of a great 90's romantic comedy, "French Kiss".

**1**

_“…So if you could just, like, call me, or something, that would be great… I mean, you could come by too, if you wanted, or like… Whatever. I mean, we were together for a year, and that… Like, it means something to me, and I know about Kristin from statistics but I just, like, really want to forgive you for that and it kills me that you don’t want me to and… I just really miss you, like, a lot, and I just… I want to see you, okay? So if you could just, like, call me. Or something. That would be-”_  

Obviously, Captain America would never eavesdrop (unless it was in the interest of Liberty or Freedom or something equally Patriotic), and while Steve Rogers wasn’t Captain America all the time, in this case he was in total agreement with his alter ego. Which is to say that Steve Rogers would never eavesdrop, either. Not intentionally. It was just his bad luck that his insanely fast metabolism made it necessary to eat in the middle of the night, and even worse luck that he hadn’t gone grocery shopping since returning from his most recent mission. Otherwise he never would have been skulking through the common area of what he liked to think of as the Avengers’ barracks on his way to the kitchen at 3 a.m. He never would have heard Dr. Foster’s assistant’s plaintive voice, perched just this side of the edge of tears, leaving that pitiful message. And things would have been easier for everyone, probably.

But his luck wasn’t just bad, it was atrocious, so _of course_ he found himself frozen in the dark, listening to something desperate and intimate and absolutely not meant for him to hear. 

“’Do you want to save this message?’ _Hell_ no I don’t want to save it. This is ridiculous.” There was the emphatic sound of a drawn out electronic beep- a sign that the message had been “deleted”, as they said- followed by quiet sobbing.

Steve hesitated in the doorway, torn between offering what awkward comfort he could to the crying girl and returning to his quarters immediately to pretend none of this had ever happened. He was leaning heavily towards the latter option. What did he know about comforting dames anyway? He could barely hold conversations with them. But then he heard her take a deep, shuddering breath, heard the way the air in her lungs caught as she tried to gain control of her emotions, and something about that show of strength just… Reminded him of himself, before, and he knew that moment would be impossible to pretend away.

He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, making just enough noise to alert her to his presence, wary of startling her. She was apparently too upset to be startled; her dark form, barely visible as a shadow on the couch, didn’t move at all in response.

“On a scale of one to ten, what are the chances you didn’t hear any of that?” she asked, and despite the tears he knew she was holding back her tone was acerbic. Steve remembered that now, remembered that the few times he’d met Dr. Foster’s assistant, she’d been quick with sarcastic comments and wry little twists of her full lips. He’d remembered those lips far more often than was strictly necessary. And looked for her, sometimes, when he happened to be near the labs.

But that was neither here nor there, and he pushed those thoughts from his mind. “I don’t know how to answer that, Miss… Lewis? I don’t know if ‘one’ or ‘ten’ means ‘no chance at all’.”

“Oh, god, this is just what tonight needed.” Her shadow-shape shifted, and his enhanced eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness to see her bury her head in her hands. Her speech was muffled as she continued. “Earlier I was thinking to myself: self, you know what would make our life complete? If Captain America could show up just in time to hear us pathetically beg our ex to talk to us. I mean… Fuck, really dude?” 

He shrugged, though he knew she couldn’t see it, and walked toward the couch. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t consider myself Captain America unless I’m wearing tights.”

This was enough to get her to raise her head, and the assessing look she gave him filled him with equal parts embarrassment and… Something else. Not embarrassment. And not at all appropriate to the situation.

“Well, are you?” she asked, and it was almost a challenge.

“Um, no,” he responded. “Why would I wear tights to sleep when I’m not in the field and don’t have to?”

She smiled at that, but he imagined that if he could see her fully the expression wouldn’t reach her eyes. “Hey, I’m not here to judge your life choices, Captain.”

“I’m not here to judge yours, either,” he told her, gently. “And it’s just Steve, since I’m not wearing tights-”

“-You _say_ -”

“-right now. Can I sit down?” He felt awkward, and part of him hoped that she’d tell him to mind his own business and go back to bed. Maybe part of her wanted to, because she took her time answering.

“It’s a free country,” she said finally, the tiniest hint of laughter in her words. “Get it? Because you’re Captain America?”

“I do get it, Miss Lewis.” He sat in the middle of the couch, body turned to where she was huddled against the armrest. Close but not too close. Now that he was next to her, it was easier to make out her features, the tear tracks shining on pale skin, the defeated set of her mouth. He was reminded again that she was beautiful, that the few times they had met he’d lost himself in looking at her out of the corners of his eyes. That he’d thought of her more often than he should.

“Look, you might as well just call me Darcy.” Her voice was resigned, as though she’d hoped to avoid any conversation that would last long enough to require her first name. “I mean, considering all the details I now have about your intimate relationship with tights...”

Steve smiled, admiring her ability to retain her sense of humor despite whatever she was going through. “It sounds so tawdry when you say it like that, Darcy.”

“Yeah, that’s why I said it like that.” She fell silent for a long moment, just lowered her head to stare at her hands. He wished, suddenly, that he had found her here under different circumstances, that they could have talked and laughed the way he’d wanted to after each of their handful of brief encounters. It had seemed so difficult to speak to her then, but it was easier this way, in the dark. Or could have been.

Now, instead of talking and laughing, he waited. He felt on edge, uncertain, unsure how to provide comfort, but if nothing else he remembered the times Bucky had consoled him. His friend had never interrogated him or pressed for details; he’d always just been there, and listened if Steve wanted to talk. Steve usually did, eventually, even if he never brought up what was bothering him. It helped anyway. If Miss Lewis- Darcy- wanted to talk, she’d talk, and he’d listen… And if she didn’t, that was fine too. And maybe that would be enough.

“I didn’t leave that message,” she mumbled eventually, speaking more to her lap than to him. “That whole pathetic rambling thing… Whatever you heard. I deleted it. I’m not _stupid_.”

“I know you’re not.” She couldn’t be, to do the work she did.

“I mean, maybe I am a little. Calling was just… Such a bad idea. But I wanted to hear his voice, even if it was just his voice _mail_. Stupid.” She laughed, and bitter as the sound was, it was sweet too. “Joke’s on me though. I forgot he doesn’t even have a personalized greeting, just the robotic one that recites his full number.”

“Jerk.”

“I know, right?!” She finally looked up at him, face full of indignation, and he resolutely tamped down on the pleasure he felt in staring at her. “What a dick. But I still… I still…” Her eyes dropped again, and she brushed away more tears impatiently. “Stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is,” she disagreed. “He cheated, but I’m the one begging. How does that even happen?”

He tried to imagine how anyone could even look at another woman if they were lucky enough to have a knockout like Darcy at home, but couldn’t. “Look, I don’t know a lot about it, but anyone who would disrespect you like that…” He struggled to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t know. Things are so different now. But in my day that kind of behavior was unacceptable. It’s no way to treat a lady.”

Darcy’s hair spilled over her shoulder as she tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him. He couldn’t help noticing how glossy it looked in the moonlight, couldn’t help wanting to run his fingers through it. Couldn’t help being really annoyed at himself for it. “So, what, guys didn’t cheat on their girlfriends in the 40’s? I find that hard to believe.”

“Maybe they did,” he conceded. “Like I said, I don’t know a lot about it.” Or anything about it, really, but he wasn’t about to tell her that his entire romantic repertoire consisted of a few kisses and one date he never got to keep. “I do know that if one of my friends had pulled anything like that, and I found out about it, our friendship would be over. And a lot of my men felt that way too.”

She raised her eyebrows at this, a wicked little smile curving those lips he found so distracting. “Well, I mean, if you want to socially ostracize him, don’t let me stop you,” she said.

“Wait, are you saying I know this guy?”

“Yeah, you know him. Actually… You work with him.”

“Who is he?” He wracked his brain trying to determine which of his teammates it could be. “It’s difficult to think any of my men would be so… Dishonorable.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that people are always on their best behavior around you?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “And why would they be?”

She paused before responding, concentrating and choosing her words carefully. “Because you say things like ‘dishonorable’ and mean them.”

“Well, if Tony Stark is on his best behavior around me, I’d hate to see what he gets up to when I’m not around.” She gave him a sad little smile, as if to say his attempt at levity was sweet but useless. He sobered. “Who is he, Darcy?”

Somehow ignoring the commanding tone that had caused hardened soldiers to obey, she merely shrugged, and he did his best not to notice the way it made her chest rise and fall under her shirt. (His best wasn’t great.) “It doesn’t matter. We didn’t… _He_ didn’t want anyone to know.”

“And you were okay with that? Being hidden?”

“For him I was,” she said, shaking her head. “Like I said, stupid.”

“Stop saying that. It’s not stupid to care about someone-”

“Even if they don’t deserve it?” she interrupted.

“Even then.”

“Barton,” she whispered after a long moment. “Barton is the one who…”

“Yeah well… I never liked Barton anyway,” he offered, seething internally. Appreciated him as a part of his team, sure, but considered him a friend… Never. Never would, now. 

“Yeah,” she replied, voice gentle and sad, “neither did I.” And she was crying again.

He wasn’t sure what to do, didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands. All he knew was that he hated watching her cry. All he could think to do was what he wanted to do, so he did, reaching for her and carefully pulling her into his arms. She was soft and warm in his embrace, with her gentle curves and fragrant hair, and it had been so long since anyone had touched him. It was wrong, he supposed, to love the feel of her against him when she was so upset. But he did. Then he felt her tears seep through his t-shirt, and the only thing he could think about was the fact that Barton was a goddamn idiot.

“I just want him back,” she whispered. “And I don’t know how… He just doesn’t care.”

Steve stroked her hair, doing his best to ignore the silky feel of it sliding through his fingers, wanting to bury his hands in it and... “I’m the wrong guy to ask,” he said, forcing himself to focus. He hoped she didn’t notice how low and rough his voice had gotten. “But even if I knew how, I wouldn’t tell you. You deserve better than Barton.”

Darcy looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and then- he wasn’t sure how- didn’t think he’d instigated it- but suddenly her lips were moving under his, soft and lush, parting for his tongue as he tasted her, all sweetness and salt. Her fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders, and he held her hard against him, one hand buried in her hair just the way he’d wanted. He’d wanted this, wanted to keep her still while he invaded her sweet mouth, and he was, just the way he’d imagined. He wanted _so much,_ but really he only wanted one thing, wanted her, wanted to press her into the couch and erase Barton’s touch with his own. It would be easy, so easy to give himself up to that. The way she kissed him, the way she clung to him, he knew he could take her down and she would never stop him.

He pushed her away. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wasn’t trying to…” The lie died in his throat, because he’d never been good at telling them.

She sighed, rubbing her hands across her face and turning away. She was as breathless as he was, her hair in disarray, and he imagined her lips were bruised from the pressure of his mouth on hers. He wanted her look at him, wanted to see it.

“It wasn’t you,” she said, voice cold and flat, before standing abruptly. “I just need to… It’s been a long day.”

Without another word, without even a second glance, she left him in the dark, both literally and figuratively. Her departure was so sudden that Steve just sat there, bemused, trying to regulate his breathing and his heart rate, trying to understand what had happened. Stark had said (a year or a lifetime ago, depending on who you were) that if he ever thought he knew what was going on in a woman’s head, his goose would be well and truly cooked. As he left the common room himself, Steve figured his goose was pretty safe since he had absolutely no clue.

He was already in the gym, stripped to the waist, imagining the punching bag beneath his fists was Barton’s smug face when he realized he’d never gotten his late night meal. He was starving.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's reading, and especially everyone who left comments and kudos :)

**2**

Darcy wanted nothing more than to never see Steve again, ever, which was like totally reasonable, even considering they were currently living in the same complex, right? She lied to herself like that sometimes. It wasn’t that she had anything against Steve. She just didn’t think she could stand the humiliation of seeing him in the light of day, knowing that 1) he’d heard her pathetically begging Clint to talk to her, 2) she’d cried, like, _all_ over him, 3) she’d kissed him for… reasons?, and 4) it had freaked him out so much that he’d practically tossed her across the room to get away from her. Well, okay, he hadn’t tossed her, and it hadn’t been across the room, but he’d definitely put her aside, gently but firmly. Which was… Whatever. Thinking about that whole thing confused her, because the kiss itself had been A-is-for-America! amazing, but she’d never been interested in Steve. He was too handsome, too straightforward, too… Righteous, in the most un-ironic sense of the word. Not that she knew him well or anything. But she liked her men rugged and bruised and broken, all cloaked in shades of gray, not draped in red, white and blue.

So, yeah. She didn’t really get why she’d kissed him. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. And she especially didn’t want to see Steve again, ever, so _of course_ he was the first person she saw the morning after when she padded into the kitchen, tile cold against her bare feet, eyes bleary and unfocused after a scant three hours of sleep. He stood shirtless in front of the fridge, inhumanly sculpted back to her, normally immaculate hair tousled, and she was thisclose to making a hasty and cowardly retreat. Unfortunately, he was a super soldier with super hearing and she hadn’t exactly been in stealth mode. Grabbing a gallon of milk from the fridge, he turned towards her, friendly smile freezing on his face as he realized who was standing before him.

For a moment, Darcy just stared. Not at his muscular chest (which she figured was probably pretty impressive but didn’t especially care about), but at his lips. It was just surreal to think that barely three hours ago they’d been pressed to hers, and she unconsciously lifted her hand to her mouth, fingers ghosting across the sensitive flesh and evoking their kiss. His eyes followed her movement, then met hers, and Darcy wished she could read what was in them. She’d never known such clear blue eyes could be so deep, or so turbulent, but whatever was showing in them was a mystery to her and not straightforward at all. Then he looked away, and she looked away, and she somehow knew he was blushing as deeply as she was, and yeah… It was as awkward as she’d expected it to be. 

“Good morning, Miss Lew- Uh, Darcy,” he said, stumbling a little over her name. “I hope you slept well.” 

She sighed, feeling distinctly inadequate in the face of his golden beauty. “I didn’t, actually, but thanks. You?”

He shrugged. “I don’t sleep much. I ended up just going to the gym. Uh, after.”

That tidbit of information was enough to distract her from the awkward. “Have you slept at all since yesterday?”

His eyes slid away from hers. “Oh, yeah, I was asleep before we uh… Met up.” He shifted restlessly, turned to the cupboard and scanned the shelves even though there was already a glass waiting on the countertop.

“Wow, you _suck_ at that,” she said, delightedly.

“Suck at what?” His voice was a bit surprised and a bit defensive, but mostly resigned.

She laughed. “Lying. Oh my god. You cannot tell a lie! Get it? Because-”

“Because I’m Captain America?” he asked, and she could almost feel him rolling his eyes at her.

“Well, yeah,” she answered easily. “Except I guess you’re not right now… I mean, I assume you’re not wearing tights.”

He finally closed the cupboards and stopped pretending to search for a glass, turning to face her instead. He gave her a wry glance, full lips turned up at the corners in a way she’d never seen him employ before. Sly humor was a good look for him. “I thought you said you weren’t here to judge my life choices?” 

“Did that sound judgmental?” she asked, mirroring his smile and leaning across the countertop. “I was just checking if I should be calling you Steve.” 

“I think after last night you should definitely be calling me Steve,” he returned, voice pitched low and smooth, then cringed. “I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” she assured him, even though she actually didn’t. Whether or not he’d been referring to their kiss, she was thinking about it again now, and she had to make a conscious effort to keep her gaze locked on his instead of flicking down to his mouth again. “Hey Steve?”

“Yes, Darcy?” He seemed apprehensive suddenly, focusing very intently on pouring his glass of milk, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought she was about to say.

“Thanks for last night.” She was proud of herself for keeping any trace of innuendo out of her words. And for thanking him, because she knew it was the mature thing to do. Kiss and confusion aside, she did genuinely appreciate the fact that he’d been there for her, even though she was basically a stranger.

He glanced up, surprised. “It was my pleasure.” And somehow there was no innuendo in that, either, even though oh my god there really could be.

She was smiling at him, strangely distracted by his disordered hair, remembering how it had felt under her fingers the night before, thinking that she’d like to reach out and smooth it into place, when his posture stiffened and his focus sharpened on something behind her.

“Barton,” he acknowledged, terse, and somehow she hadn’t realized how soft his voice had been until it wasn’t anymore. Not that she was paying much attention to Steve at all; he was suddenly a non-entity, and all her senses were alive and attuned to the man standing behind her. She wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard him approach. No one ever did if he didn’t want to be heard. But she was surprised she hadn’t felt him, hadn’t known he was there based on the sixth sense she seemed to have for him. She felt him now, felt the power and draw of his presence, and couldn’t decide whether she’d missed the sensation or not.

“Cap,” Clint responded, and she lowered her lids for a moment against the strangely mingled pain and relief she felt at hearing him. 

“Can I help you with something?” Steve asked, what he said and the way he said it both scrupulously polite though his expression was almost dangerous. If she’d thought about it at all, she would have assumed a look like that would be out of place on his open, handsome face, but it seemed natural, as though his features were long accustomed to being arranged into such harsh lines. Darcy imagined he must look like this when he went into battle, and she could understand why thus far all his enemies had fallen before him. It gave her no little satisfaction to think that her ex was now on that list, because fuck that guy.

“Uh, yeah… Could you give us a minute?” Clint’s voice was full of that arrogance she recalled so well, and despite the phrasing his words really weren’t a request. But, of course, Steve was Captain America, and Darcy was coming to realize just what that meant. A man obviously so used to the austere expression he now wore would never give in so easily.

“Darcy?” His gaze was full of concern, and she was grateful for the way he was deferring to her, grateful for the sense of control it gave her.

She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

“Sorry Barton, not today,” Steve said, something in his tone reminding her of a brick wall, solid and immovable.

“Really?” Clint sounded incredulous, and Darcy could easily picture the expression on his rugged face, brows drawn together in confusion, mouth set. She wanted to turn and look at him, wanted to see him, but not as much as she wanted him to go away. Her heart was still too raw for this.

Steve nodded curtly. “Really.”

She could hear Clint shifting behind her, could almost feel the anger radiating off of him in waves, but beneath that was the tug of attraction, that indefinable thing that had always drawn her to him. It was harder than she’d expected not to face him. “Darcy?” he asked, and she had always loved the way he’d said her name...

If possible, Steve’s gaze narrowed even further, and part of her wondered if maybe he could sense how close she was to breaking, how difficult it was to resist the sweetness infused into that single word. “That’s enough, Barton. The lady doesn’t want to talk to you. You have a kitchen in your quarters; I suggest you go use it.”

“You don’t speak for her,” Clint argued, and Steve sent her a questioning glance.

She wanted, desperately, to turn around, but in some strange way didn’t want to disappoint Steve, didn’t want all the strength he’d shown on her behalf to be for nothing. And of course she knew that any contact with her ex right now would be a mistake.

“I can speak for myself,” Darcy said, quietly but firmly. “And I don’t want to talk to you.” Clint was always so good at recognizing lies; she imagined he must be shocked to realize she wasn’t telling one now.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, more to himself than to her or Steve. The sweetness that had called to her before was gone, replaced with impatience. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll talk later.”

Darcy heard Clint turn and stalk off, and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. A part of her registered that he must be really irritated to make so much noise with every step that took him farther away from her; given his training, he was normally preternaturally silent. She was glad she’d managed to rattle him even a little. There was victory in the knowledge that Clint had expected her to be destroyed and found himself dismissed instead. And okay, maybe she could have been a bit more of a badass about it, but he hadn’t seen her face, didn’t know how he’d affected her. Didn’t know it was almost physically painful to her to be so close to him without seeing or touching him. Whatever, she’d take the W and be grateful for it.

“Are you alright?” Steve asked, peering at her intently, and she surprised him- and herself, too- by managing a smile. It was hard not to smile when he was looking at her like that, so gentle and serious. His hair was still tousled, and for some strange reason her fingers still itched to stroke it away from his face, but she pushed that thought away.

“I think I am,” she said. “I really appreciate-”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t like bullies, so I’m happy to do what I can. But you would have been fine without me.”

Darcy had to fight not to roll her eyes at his optimism. As much as she appreciated the completely unwarranted confidence he had in her, he was just so naïve. “Yeah, okay. Remember that message I didn’t leave last night?” At his nod, she continued. “I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t been here, our conversation would have gone kind of like that, except with tears and in person. So you know… This was better.”

Steve gave her a very intense, very concerned look. Again she was struck by the depths hidden in his blue eyes; she’d never found them compelling before, but now… “Don’t do that to yourself, Darcy.”

“Don’t do what?” she asked, forcing herself to focus. “Make a fool out of myself? Because believe it or not I’ve actually been trying to avoid that.”

“Don’t care so much,” he said. “It’s like you said last night. _He just doesn’t care_. I don’t know a lot about relationships, but I know plenty about tactics, and trust me, that’s his play.”

She stared at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“Barton has a fundamentally adversarial view of the world,” Steve explained. “Whatever happens, he always tries to win. Even in this.”

“He doesn’t really have to try. The whole ‘breaking my heart and moving on immediately’ thing was like… Super effective.”

“No. That’s only the winning play if you really care and he really doesn’t.”

“But… I really do.” Like, oh my god really. “And he _really_ doesn’t.” 

Steve shook his head as though she were the naïve one. “That’s just what he wants you to think. He hated that you wouldn’t talk to him just now. And he hated that you were here with me.”

She latched onto this immediately. “Really? You really think he still cares?”

“I mean…”

“Do you think he was jealous?” she asked eagerly. “Do you think-”

“Stop it,” Steve said, all the authority of command ringing in his voice. “This isn’t about getting him back. It’s about power. Every time you show him you care, you give him power over you. So stop. That’s all.” _That’s all._ He really didn’t know much about relationships if he truly believed it was that easy.

“Do you think that if I cared less, he’d care more?” She'd meant it to be just another question, but even she could hear the longing and grief in her voice.

Steve paused for a moment, weighing his words carefully. “I think that if you have to play games like that to make someone show they care about you, they don’t care about you as much as you deserve.”

“Maybe,” Darcy acknowledged. “But what if I don’t care about what I deserve?”

“Darcy… You can’t settle for that,” he answered quietly, the sadness he felt for her intelligible in every syllable. “Even if you think you want to.”

Darcy nodded, not really noticing as Steve rinsed his glass, returned his milk to the fridge and made his way back to his quarters. She was too preoccupied with trying to determine exactly how little she was willing to settle for, and exactly what she was willing to do to get it.

**TBC**


End file.
